


this whole damn city thinks it needs you (but not as much as i do)

by psikeval



Category: N.Flying (Band)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Choking, Dom/sub Undertones, Edgeplay, Established Relationship, Jealousy, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Quiet Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-19
Updated: 2018-02-19
Packaged: 2019-03-21 02:32:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13731270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/psikeval/pseuds/psikeval
Summary: People often misunderstand. And Hweseung figures,let them.





	this whole damn city thinks it needs you (but not as much as i do)

**Author's Note:**

> things to blame for my current state:  
> \- [robin](https://twitter.com/seungseungs)  
> \- pictures of [seunghyub](https://twitter.com/defocus92/status/962723550376292352) in [collars](https://twitter.com/anpanman_fs/status/962625259475120128)  
> \- everything these stupid boys have ever done, frankly
> 
> things NOT to blame:  
> \- me  
> \- decisions i have made  
> \- ok thanks
> 
> obviously this is pure made-up nonsense, meant only to be shared within fandom among folks who would also like these idiots to [fictionally] kiss already, so please don't spread it elsewhere or make anyone connected to n.flying aware of its existence because i would most likely shrivel up and die and you don't want that on your conscience do you? here, have a [screamo version of the real](https://www.instagram.com/p/Be-1cPthc_s/?hl=en&taken-by=letsroll_nf)

 

It’s not that Hweseung doesn’t know how it looks. He’s new, and young, and cute, not just maknae by default but marketable as one. And it balances the group in a way that feels natural, letting Hun withdraw when he likes and Jaehyun blossom into full-time goofball, Kwangjin an easy, flirtatious bundle of perfect hair and vanity, and Seunghyub, well. He remains Seunghyub, part leader and part brother and perhaps a bit of a god, creator and parent and arbiter of disputes. _He who tilled the fields in which these humble potatoes grow,_ Jaehyun once intoned, before throwing a plastic cup at Seunghyub’s head and cackling.

There are certain things one doesn’t expect to find—perhaps at all, but especially in the lives they lead, the people they strive to become. Careers are being built here, and that comes first, for all of them. And sometimes that means appearances are kept up, left for their fans to interpret, no matter how much or how intimately dynamics might shift.

So when things were decided between them, and Seunghyub started to nestle close every chance he got, in pictures and interviews and traveling on planes, when he slipped into Hweseung’s bed—for a night, then every night—and _put it on fucking Instagram_ —when his hands are so often and so fetchingly spread over any inch of Hweseung he can reach, then, yes. It can look a certain way, the match of a leading man and their baby-faced new recruit, like a storybook of innocence and its glittering, handsome knight in shining armor.

People often misunderstand. And Hweseung figures, _let them_.

 

\--

 

Hweseung didn’t know, in the beginning. That fact is important to him, because he would have done things very differently if he’d realized Seunghyub was — well. All the words for it make Seunghyub blush and hunch in on himself, face miserable and pinched, like it’s humiliating somehow to have simply not done something, and so Hweseung tries to talk around it as best he can, even now. There’s really no avoiding the truth, though.

Which is: when this all started, he had no idea that Seunghyub was a virgin.

Before signing (and after signing, and actually just the other day when Seunghyub wasn’t around and Hweseung’s whole body felt achingly tight with need) he watched every video of J.Don that he could possibly get his hands on. Perhaps more accurately, he jerked off to them, and it’s possible that once upon a time Hweseung had _expectations_ regarding how Seunghyub would be during sex, rough and growling and fierce and fucking perfect.

(That last, at least, for the record, is entirely true.)

But in all the many, many ways he imagined sex with Seunghyub, being the person more experienced was not a possibility Hweseung considered. It never even crossed his mind.

And then…things happened so fast. They didn’t talk much, didn’t have time to, racing from first kiss to taking off each other’s clothes in a matter of minutes, always conscious of how rare and limited privacy tends to be. And in bed, laid out on his back and fucked, there were moments when Seunghyub would fumble or hesitate, but he was so eager, so enthusiastic and pliant and fucking _incredible_ , that it never occurred to Hweseung that it might all be new.

It’s not as if it was _bad_. He would have been gentle with Seunghyub that first time no matter what, and when he saw how well Seunghyub responded to the slightest teasing or a hand on his throat—well, of course Hweseung gave him more of it.

He wishes he’d understood more fully how it was for Seunghyub—because it was good, but it’s hard to parse, in retrospect, whether it was good _enough_. If their first night was as special as Hweseung would have tried to make it, had he known. Because if there is one thing he is sure of to his bones, it’s that Seunghyub deserves to be cherished, loudly and often.

There’s nothing he can do about it now, of course. But he pets Seunghyub’s back soothingly when they share a bed, and he always seems to end up staring on camera, immeasurably besotted, and he leans into Seunghyub’s arm around him every chance he gets.

He deals in these small tokens of tenderness, and hopes that it will suffice.

 

\--

 

One Wednesday night, the group has dispersed in a way they hardly ever can be anymore, with shows and signings and promotional spots keeping them all on the run together. Jaehyun went out with his sister for dinner, and for once it’s Kwangjin and Hun staying late at the studio. Hweseung and Seunghyub have some time to themselves, and are spending that rare commodity in the way they both like best: with Seunghyub on his knees.

His hair is disheveled and his mouth swollen, wet and flushed red. The collar necklace, only half a joke, is tight around his throat. In the silence, kneeling between Hweseung’s legs, Seunghyub softly moans, too hungry for it to think about things like modesty or shame, sucking cock until he chokes and his eyes water, and Hweseung sits back and lets him.

When he thinks he might come, he makes Seunghyub slow or even stop. Whatever it takes to regain control and keep this from ending. He breathes deep and bites at his lip and admires the tent of Seunghyub’s untouched cock in his trousers, the growing wet spot and the jittery, unsteady trembling of Seunghyub’s thighs. Always gratifying, how worked up he gets.

It’s at one of these moments that Seunghyub lifts his head and speaks.

“Hweseung-ah,” he says, pleadingly, voice achingly deep and ragged. It’s a tone that means two things: that Seunghyub is desperate to come, and that he didn’t learn anything from last time.

Rather than mention this outright, Hweseung smiles gently down at him. “Did I say that you could talk?” he asks—not cruelly, just prompting. He’s only ever as stern as he needs to be.

He loves watching Seunghyub in moments like this, when he realizes his mistake. It stops the constant engine of his loving, consciously conscientious brain, the thoughts of what _he_ wants and what Hweseung might want and what he _should_ do, what would be best right now. All that stripped away in seconds. It centers Seunghyub and stills him; he need only do as he is told.

Without making a sound, Seunghyub shakes his head. _No_.

“Then you should hush,” Hweseung says softly, sinking a hand into Seunghyub’s hair and tightening his grip until Seunghyub shudders and his eyes drift shut. Then, and only then, does Hweseung pull him back to the task at hand.

Seunghyub is perfect for him this time, sinking down onto Hweseung’s cock with his mouth all soft and slick and yielding. He doesn’t try to anticipate what’s wanted, just gives himself over and takes it. Surrender is written in the loose, sloping curve of his shoulders, the grateful clinging of his hands at Hweseung’s hips. Like he could stay this way for hours, jaw stretched open and mouth watering around Hweseung’s dick, utterly content.

“Go on,” Hweseung tells him, and groans when Seunghyub starts to suck, swallowing around the head of his cock in little spasms even as more spit spills from his lips. He’s tidier about it when he’s allowed to do as he likes, will lick up the mess as he goes and tease in the process, because Seunghyub has always been a menace with his tongue. It’s only nights like this that Hweseung gets to make a mess of him, one hand spread on the back of Seunghyub’s neck to hold him in place while Hweseung fucks his throat.

After a while, a little helpless moan escapes Seunghyub with every thrust, his hands clutching Hweseung’s hips each time in an almost painful grip. Like he’s worried it might stop. Hweseung wonders if he’s imagining being fucked like this, pressed into the mattress and spread open, messy, edged closer and closer to the brink until neither of them can stand it.

The thought of that — the incredibly fucking vivid mental image, half memory, of how good Seunghyub looks and the noises he makes — it’s too much, suddenly, for Hweseung to control. He comes before he means to, gasping for breath and white-knuckled, trying in vain to gentle his pace while Seunghyub obligingly, blissfully swallows it down.

Like it’s nothing. More than that, like it’s a _gift_. He’s so _good_ , and for all Seunghyub’s protective habits and mother-hen ways, Hweseung thinks, half-delirious, that he’d happily burn a world or two to protect Seunghyub from anything. That’s how much and how stupidly his heart aches, knowing he gets to have this. He’s still reeling from it when he slides down onto the floor with Seunghyub and reaches into pants, wrapping a hand around his cock.

“You did really well,” he says, and watches the words hit Seunghyub even harder than the touch, rattling through his spine and leaving him breathless, whining. “You were beautiful, the whole time. I love watching you like that. You’re so good, and I know how much you wanted my hands on you, yeah? There. That’s it, Seunghyub hyung. Come for me.”

And Seunghyub does, hips jerking, nearly sobbing against Hweseung’s neck. He curls in even closer, heedless of the sticky mess of come being smeared between them, kissing Hweseung’s neck and shoulders and his collarbone, whispering _thank you_ against the warm skin even as he shakes and whimpers and Hweseung strokes him through the last of it, fingers lingering between Seunghyub’s thighs until finally he relents.

He lets Seunghyub have his way in the shower, lets him press close and man the shampoo bottle and fuss over Hweseung with soap, because liking to submit and giving up his mile-wide caretaking streak are two entirely different things. The former, Hweseung knows and exploits with impunity. The latter he wouldn’t expect in a million years.

So if Seunghyub wants to dry him off, and kiss his forehead, and help him dress for bed, that’s as it ought to be. It’s who they are. It works for them, and it’s hardly going to be ruined by a mutual preference for Seunghyub as the big spoon. Even if he _does_ keep nuzzling the ticklish spot on Hweseung’s neck and making him thrash and giggle, like an asshole.

“I’m taking pics in the morning for Instagram, of me in your bed,” he warns, the tone ruined by his audible smile—and the entire threat negated by knowing he’d never post a thing against Hweseung’s wishes. But Seunghyub likes letting people know where he sleeps, and likes announcing his intent to flaunt it more. He means, but does not say, _because I’m yours_.

Hweseung tightens his grip on Seunghyub’s wrist, which is faster than saying _yes, of course you will. I’m yours, too, you know._

There’s a lot by now that they don’t really need put into words.

 

\--

 

When the original members of the group moved into the dorms, Hweseung knows the conditions were—a little shabby, to put it nicely. Somehow both bare and messy, lacking most of the amenities of actual homes. At least now they have a proper kitchen, where he and Chahun can cook for the more hopeless ones. There’s even a real couch in the common area, big enough for multiple people. Little by little, N.Flying is moving up in the world.

This couch, specifically, is big enough for Seunghyub to fling himself down on it lengthwise, which he did just a moment ago, placing his head neatly in Hweseung’s lap. It’s a state of things that Hweseung doesn’t mind at all, even if he wasn’t expecting it. He’s been reading, but really, he’s been trying to _want_ to read. Being interrupted is not all that devastating.

“Hello, Seunghyub hyung,” he murmurs, shifting the book into one hand and brushing Seunghyub’s hair from his forehead with the other. He pushes the strands with his palm when they’re stubborn, straightened too many times in the past few days to cooperate. In the end the soft fringe of Seunghyub’s bangs is mussed in every direction and Hweseung keeps coaxing it back again with his fingertips, watching Seunghyub’s eyes drift closed. “How are you?”

“I’m tired.”

“Oh?” Hweseung smiles down at him, even though Seunghyub isn’t looking. “You could take a nap, in bed. Maybe even yours for once?”

“No,” says Seunghyub in a low, frustrated tone between a grumble and a whine, shifting restlessly on the couch cushions. His head stays where it is, though, laid across Hweseung’s thighs. “I’ve slept enough. It isn’t that. I only…”

He doesn’t finish, but doesn’t need to. Hweseung knows, by now, the signs.

There’s another sort of exhaustion that creeps up on Seunghyub, when they’re too busy for much time alone together. When practice intrudes, or they can’t get a moment’s privacy at home, and Seunghyub is left too long unattended to, simmering under the skin. Sometimes it takes weeks to build, and sometimes only days. But there comes a point where something must be done, or Seunghyub will boil over irrevocably and be cross and miserable for days.

Not sex. It isn’t about that, exactly, though of course Seunghyub likes that very much whenever they can steal the time. No, this need of his is both easier and more complex, soothed some days by just a few words and Hweseung’s hand on the back of his neck, coaxing him down into the space where Seunghyub is soft and obedient and blissfully dependent.

But some days it takes more than a moment, more than a simple touch or a quick tryst in the bathroom. And today, Hweseung thinks, it will certainly take a little more.

He abandons his book altogether and traces, with his fingers, the line of Seunghyub’s throat, soft skin drawn tight over the hard lines of ligaments and cartilage. Just a few inches over, and he could feel Seunghyub’s heart against his fingertips.

“Do you need something from me, Seunghyub hyung?” he asks softly, perfectly polite, spreading out his hand until it spans over Seunghyub’s throat. Not pressing down or doing anything untoward. Just offering. Under the skin Hweseung can feel the lurch of muscle when Seunghyub gulps and tries to take air without exhaling first—as if, for just a moment, he’s quite forgotten how to breathe.

His eyes shut tight, Seunghyub whispers, “Please.”

There’s a small, quickly suppressed desire to laugh — Seunghyub wouldn’t take it well — it’s just that it feels so absurd, that Hweseung would ever say no.

“Yes, of course,” he says, just as formal as before. Hweseung lets his hand settle more firmly on Seunghyub’s throat, barely pressing down, and thinks he would never stoop to disrespect when being offered this. “What would you like?”

It’s the wrong way to approach the matter. Seunghyub doesn’t speak, but he answers all the same, tension rising up in his limbs and in the helpless, despairing lines around his eyes. His posture says that too many things have been asked of him, and he can’t — or rather he can, and will, if he forces himself, but — it’s one more choice, placed on his shoulders when he’d rather hand them over and be free of them. Seunghyub doesn’t want to decide anymore.

“Shhh.” Hweseung’s hand strokes up under Seunghyub’s jaw and cups his chin, thumb pressed gently up against his mouth. “I changed my mind,” he says, tracing back and forth over Seunghyub’s parted lips. “Don’t say anything, Seunghyub hyung. Just lay there, let me look at you. Can you do that for me, please?”

The change is drastic, immediate. Seunghyub’s eyelids flutter and his face goes slack and soft, beautiful in repose the way he always is; all the stiffness drains from his arms and legs. He arches his neck just a little bit more, and Hweseung grips at his throat again, squeezing slowly, gently, but steadily increasing the pressure until Seunghyub moans outright.

It’s nonsensical at times, the things that remind Hweseung of just how far in love he’s fallen.

With one hand buried firmly in Seunghyub’s hair, he goes about slowly unbuttoning the shirt, left-handed and a little clumsy. It takes longer this way, but that’s all right. Hweseung makes it halfway through the job before he can’t help himself and has to touch Seunghyub’s chest, petting down towards his belly. He’s hot as a furnace, flushed and biting at his lip while Hweseung maps out patterns with his fingertips, over skin and muscle and bone.

And truly, he doesn’t want to go too far, even with Seunghyub laid out so temptingly for him, but some things are impossible to resist. He brushes over Seunghyub’s nipple, like an accident, just testing, unprepared for Seunghyub to softly whine and arch his entire back.

It…annoys Hweseung, actually, that it’s a surprise. He hates how little time they have for this, most days, and harbors a stewing resentment for all the things he’s not yet been able to learn about Seunghyub, what he likes, what makes him feel good. Admittedly, Hweseung has always known that when it comes to what he loves, he tends to be greedy.

The other problem with learning Seunghyub’s weaknesses in the middle of things: not knowing how far he can go.

“Is that all right?” he asks, thumbing back and forth over the soft pink nipple until the skin’s been teased tight and Seunghyub’s breath is hitching, high in his throat. “I think it is. I think you’re happy like this, but. You know what to say, to stop this. Anytime you like.”

Rather than reply, Seunghyub offers up his neck, baring his throat just a little bit more. It’s hard to resist putting a hand on it again, gripping softly, just enough that Seunghyub’s hands clench at his sides. He’s trying so hard to be still, even with his dick slowly and visibly stiffening in his soft black pants. It’s plain for anyone to see just how far gone he is.

(But they won’t; they never will. No one gets to see Seunghyub hyung like this but him, and that fills Hweseung with a tenderness close to pain, if he thinks of it too much.)

He sees it when Seunghyub slips under completely, eyes a blissful and faraway black, limbs heavy and soft and relieved, in every way, of the burdens of living. Of deciding. Of carrying himself any particular way, when all that matters is whatever Hweseung asks of him.

It’s surrender, pure and simple, and it stings at Hweseung’s eyes for a moment, before he can regain control.

“There you are,” he sighs softly, with barely a tremor to his voice. “That’s it. That’s good.”

Seunghyub hums quietly and lets himself be touched, a careful inventory of Hweseung’s favorite spots. His hands, held and caressed, delicate fingers and callouses from the guitar, curling in Hweseung’s grasp. The soft bared skin over his stomach, where Hweseung can scratch as hard as he likes without anyone seeing tomorrow. The place on Seunghyub’s side that’s ticklish, that he hates anyone touching until Hweseung has him like this and being teased without mercy goes straight to his dick, even as he huffs and halfheartedly squirms away.

And there’s quite a bit more, of course, but — there were, Hweseung now realizes, a few things they probably should have figured out beforehand. “Do you want to come?”

Seunghyub only blinks, his eyes glazed with pleasure and the soft sort of delirium he allows himself to sink into, when he’s gone deep and knows that he’s safe and secure. “Mm?”

It’s not a no, but as good as one. When Seunghyub wants anything at all he’s quick to speak up, no matter the circumstance, will even beg without shame if he senses Hweseung is interested. And Hweseung is, in almost every situation, quite interested indeed.

“Nothing,” says Hweseung soothingly, petting down Seunghyub’s belly to reach the half-hard bulge of his cock, which he fondles gently through the fabric, only teasing. He wants to see, wants a thrilling and terrifying jumble of things as he rubs his palm along the length, feels his way up to thumb at the head. It’s so very hard to stop. Seunghyub is almost frighteningly beautiful, and often denying him anything takes all of Hweseung’s willpower—truth be told, though he is not new to wanting this, he is new to its execution.

But still, he knows what he means to do, so when the low sounds Seunghyub is making start to quicken and precome starts to seep through the fabric under his thumb, he lets go. Bereft of touch, Seunghyub nearly sobs, straining up for more contact, before dropping back onto the cushions with every breath a quiet, groaning gasp—for air, for control of the need written so nakedly across his face. Slowly, the trembling in his limbs subsides.

It’s enough that Hweseung doubts. He would ask ‘ _is this what you want?_ ’ but forcing Seunghyub to return to himself enough to consider the question and make his decision—it would be counterproductive, wouldn’t it? To second-guess him and force him to take control again. The last thing Hweseung wants is to make things worse, or say something foolish.

“Are you all right?” he asks instead, brushing back Seunghyub’s hair again, and Seunghyub turns his face into Hweseung’s hand, nuzzling at his fingers, all but purring. Perfectly content, even if he is flushed pink and half undressed, his dick achingly stiff and neglected.

“Good, hyung,” Hweseung murmurs, petting Seunghyub’s cheekbones. “You’re so good. You’ll tell me if it’s too much—if you don’t like it—won’t you?”

He hates the uncertain waver to his voice, but Seunghyub looks up at him, smiling with such tenderness and gratitude it becomes hard to think, and only nods.

It takes a moment to recover, what with his heart feeling so joyous and immense inside his chest, as if it’s all too much to hold. Hweseung shakes his head at himself and then, unable to resist, leans down to kiss Seunghyub’s forehead.

“Ahh,” Seunghyub says, eyes half-lidded and his voice deep and dangerous, betrayed only by the lingering hint of a smile. “Cute little maknae.”

Hweseung sighs.

“Shut your fucking mouth,” he suggests sweetly, for the way it makes Seunghyub cackle aloud and grin—like sunshine.

 

\--

 

Truth be told, it never seems to matter how many long years they’ve trained for this; nearly every time N.Flying performs is as exciting as the first, in its way. After a show, they are all overcome, pressing close to each other with shaky hands, breathless every time. There’s no rush like performing, and there’s nothing better than the feeling, like a second heartbeat thumping in your chest, when all those hours of practice turn them into something not just worth watching, but worth cheering for. They are _good_ live — they really, really are.

So when they come offstage and Jaehyun tumbles into Hweseung, yodeling wordlessly with his arms outspread, a bundle of nerves and adrenaline just happy to be alive, it’s impossible for Hweseung not to catch him and hang on. The effervescent delight coming off Jaehyun in waves is just too infectious. They swing precariously to one side before righting themselves; Jaehyun slings an arm around Hweseung’s neck. “My hero!”

Hweseung is already laughing at him, but laughs a little harder, and grabs Jaehyun’s waist to spin him around, his feet barely brushing the floor as Hweseung slings him in a circle. Kwangjin turns to see the source of Jaehyun’s hyena-like shriek of triumph and tilts his head joyfully, smiling ear to ear with an arm around Hun, and Seunghyub…well, he’s predictable.

Even with a smile on his face, there’s a furrow in Seunghyub’s brow that’s impossible to miss, if you look close at all. And Hweseung — he always looks carefully.

So he sighs, averts his eyes from Seunghyub’s sulking, and waits till they’re alone backstage to mention it.

“Seunghyub hyung,” he says, taking Seunghyub’s face in his hands. Like this, leaned close around him, Seunghyub is perfectly attentive, bright-eyed with a smile lingering on his lips. “I love you very much. You know that, right?”

It’s dazzling, always, the way Seunghyub beams at him. “Yes.”

Hweseung raises his eyebrows. “You do,” he repeats, pointedly uncertain.

“Yes?” Seunghyub tries again, confused. “What’s this about?”

“You, acting ridiculous.”

“When?!”

Rather than answer, Hweseung mimics the exact look that crosses Seunghyub’s handsome face when he’s jealous, all pouty and grim and deeply displeased. He knows it’s a good impression because Seunghyub winces and ducks his head immediately.

“Sorry,” he mutters. “I’m sorry, dongsaeng.”

“You don’t have to be sorry. But you don’t need to be jealous, either.”

From the low, whiny sound Seunghyub makes, he knows it—but knowing it’s unnecessary is one thing. Truly convincing himself is another. Hweseung supposes it’s good that he’s trying.

He rocks up onto his toes and kisses Seunghyub’s mouth, as gentle as he knows how to be, and Seunghyub melts into him without hesitation. They stand there for a while, swaying slightly, coaxing each other’s mouths open kiss by kiss until Seunghyub’s breath is ragged and his arms are wrapped tight around Hweseung, holding him in place. He kisses Hweseung over and over, never deep enough, knowing it’s exactly the sort of torture drives him fucking crazy, then traces the tip of his tongue along Hweseung’s lower lip, teasing back and forth, and presses him up against the door for another, harder kiss.

“No fucking until we get home,” Jaehyun bellows optimistically from the hall a few minutes later, but it’s a little late for that; Seunghyub is already on his knees, eyelids fluttering every time he chokes on the slow, steady thrusts of Hweseung’s cock down his throat, and Hweseung shudders and lets his head hit the door and thinks that the others can wait.

 

\--

 

“I’ve gotten better. About the jealousy, I mean,” Seunghyub says a few hours later, his voice soft and tentative, when they’re curled up together in Hweseung’s bed. Hweseung reaches over and tugs playfully at his hair.

“I _know_. Before we got together, you scowled so much I started to think you hated me.”

Seunghyub groans, face buried in Hweseung’s shirt. “Don’t,” he says pitifully. “I wanted you so bad back then. After a few months just _seeing_ you with the others was enough to make it boil over. You were always so attentive with everyone, and I…”

“You wanted it all for yourself.”

“When you say it like that, it sounds stupid.”

“It is stupid,” Hweseung reminds him, not unkindly. “You’re so greedy.”

“I’m trying. I know it’s not an attractive quality.”

Hweseung tries to consider this fairly. It’s true he’s not fond of jealousy—but knowing just how intensely Seunghyub craves his attention is…well, it’s certainly not a bad feeling, so long as it doesn’t start to affect the group in a negative way. “Hm. I think it would be attractive if you touched me more around the others. Would that make you feel better?”

For a second, Seunghyub’s eyes go wide, startled. “Touch you, like…”

Hweseung gives him a stern look, but Seunghyub seems genuinely uncertain, so he sighs and almost immediately relents. “Like, put your arm around me, or lean on me, or — you’re always coming up with reasons to touch me, I don’t know why it’s my job to give you ideas!”

“You don’t mind?”

“No. Though, that time you were groping me on camera, right next to the others, I nearly jumped out of my skin. You’re kind of a menace, Seunghyub hyung.”

Seunghyub frowns slightly, his brow furrowed in thought. “I don’t remember…”

“Of course you don’t,” Hweseung says, smiling helplessly, shoving gently at Seunghyub’s chest with his arm. “That’s exactly why I said you don’t need me to give you ideas.”

There’s two sharp raps on the door, not terribly loud but decisive.

“It’s me,” Kwangjin calls out, resigned. “Knocking at the door of my own room again.”

Seunghyub opens his mouth, no doubt to shout something embarrassing and untrue, so Hweseung puts a hand over his lips and presses down firmly. “As I’ve told you before,” he calls out, “we’re only sharing a bed, nothing else, and you can come in whenever you like.”

“I prefer to be safe,” are Kwangjin’s first words when he enters. “Good evening.”

The three of them chat idly as Kwangjin prepares for bed, and Seunghyub sleeping over has become routine enough that it’s surprisingly comfortable, sharing the space among them.

But long after the lights are out, and Kwangjin’s breathing has gone soft and slow with sleep, Hweseung stays wide awake, running his hands over Seunghyub’s body simply because he can. It feels like rediscovery of the graceful, muscled line of him, and Seunghyub lays still for him, soothed by it, more than happy to be petted for as long as Hweseung likes. Every so often, they stop to kiss, and Seunghyub likes that, too. Only when Hweseung’s hand slips down and rubs very deliberately at the bulge between his legs is there a low, shocked noise of protest.

“W-we can’t,” Seunghyub says so very quietly, his voice already strained. “He’ll hear.”

He won’t, because Kwangjin has been wearing earplugs to bed ever since Seunghyub started sleeping with Hweseung (no matter how much Hweseung insisted they weren’t _doing anything_ —and, well, if he’s not going to be believed anyway, it feels like they might as well). “Not if you keep quiet,” he says under his breath instead, smiling.

There’s no resistance when he reaches for Seunghyub’s dick again and starts to run his fingertips back and forth across the thickening length of it. Only when Seunghyub is fully hard and leaking does Hweseung slick his palm with precome and start to stroke in steady, merciless tugs. In no time at all Seunghyub’s hands are clutching at his arms, his shirt, his shoulders.

“Hweseung,” he whispers, a barely audible hiss in the dark. “Hweseung, please…”

“Shhh.”

Seunghyub’s hand is trembling and he buries his face against Hweseung’s neck, mouth open in a silent gasp, his teeth sometimes scraping over skin. He jerks violently, once, fucking into Hweseung’s hand with enough force that the bed creaks and Seunghyub goes still, shaking with need and so nervous about being caught that Hweseung almost tells him the truth.

But—the thing is, Seunghyub is so beautiful like this. And he’s told Hweseung before, they agreed, that if setting a scene, there are certain lies that can be told. Small ones like this, harming no one, but giving him a Seunghyub who’s trying so hard to be silent that he’s biting his lips raw, eyes screwed shut. Hweseung could swear there are tears on his lashes.

Everything feels loud, in silence this complete. The quiet shifting of sheets around Seunghyub, his harsh ragged breathing, the muffled squeak of mattress springs. Even the soft sounds of Hweseung stroking his cock are audible when it’s this quiet.

“Are you close?”

Seunghyub opens his eyes, and even as wrecked as he is, the look on his face is cautious. “Can I?”

It’s hard not to completely lose control, but Hweseung swallows back a groan and manages. This whole time, Seunghyub thought he might be — what? Tortured to the brink, again and again, kept silent and never allowed to come? And he was _fine with that_? He would do such a thing, gladly, if Hweseung asked, and realizing that is — fuck, it’s unreal.

He needs to make Seunghyub fall apart right fucking now.

“I want you to,” he urges, kissing messily along the side of Seunghyub’s face, biting at his jaw and his neck, thumbing over the slick head of his cock. “I don’t care if you wake up the whole dorm, I just want you to feel good, and— I want you to come like this, please, hyung—”

It’s all the encouragement Seunghyub needs. He writhes helplessly when it hits him and tries so hard to be quiet that only breathy, wheezing sounds escape, like soft little shrieks as he comes in a sticky mess all over Hweseung’s hands. By the end of it, Seunghyub is rigid, trembling, only slowly relaxing as the crushing wave of his orgasm subsides. Hweseung keeps stroking him until Seunghyub is utterly spent and muffling quiet whimpers against his shoulder.

“Good?” Hweseung asks, just to be sure, after licking his palm clean.

The way Seunghyub laughs at him — eyes barely open as he lays there in Hweseung’s bed, a blissful, boneless heap — is utterly carefree and almost painfully gorgeous. “ _Good_? Yeah.”

It’s very difficult to think with so much happiness welling up in his chest, but Hweseung tries valiantly. The mess, he deals with by stripping off Seunghyub’s t-shirt and using it like a towel, because Hweseung is something of an expert in accomplishing two goals with one solution. When they settle back together, Seunghyub is wrapped around him from behind and all his bare skin feels deliciously overheated, still faintly sweaty with arousal and exertion.

“You’ll make breakfast in the morning?”

“Yes,” he says, taking Seunghyub’s hand on his belly to lace their fingers together. “Why, was there something you wanted?”

Seunghyub draws him closer, till there’s hardly any space between them, exhaling in a rush when his still-sensitive dick is pressed firmly against Hweseung—even if he then rolls his hips a few times to chase the raw, overstimulated ache of it. He makes a soft, mumbly sound and kisses the back of Hweseung’s neck several times in succession, lingering. “No. Nothing special.”

 

\--

 

“I can’t believe the two of you. ‘We’re only sleeping, Kwangjin hyung, I promise!’ I _knew_ you were lying,” Kwangjin yells the next morning while emerging from a dorm room that smells unmistakeably of sex, and Hweseung just beams at him and hands him a bowl.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> i'll be screaming on my new [n.flying trash twitter account](https://twitter.com/jinjaga_koguma) if anyone needs me


End file.
